


natural high

by CallofTheCurlew



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, No Spoilers, Phandom Fic Fests, Smut, interactive introverts, minor disassociation, phandom fic fests: tourfic, tourfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 16:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14877416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallofTheCurlew/pseuds/CallofTheCurlew
Summary: Written for thephandomficfeststourfic challenge!The aftermath of the first day on tour. (Spoiler Free!)





	natural high

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely beta, [alyciaclebnam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyciaclebnam/works) who doesn't write (or even watch) Dan and Phil but is my favourite person and deserves to have her F/F The 100/5th Harmony fic read. Also thank you to the lovely mods at [phandomficfests](https://phandomficfests.tumblr.com/) for running these challenges and just being great people in general!

It’s a natural high.

Adrenaline courses through his veins as more than a thousand eyes stare straight at him, bodies lifting from their seats as thunderous applause fills his ears. 

He’s exhilarated, he’s amazed. His heart is racing and he’s grinning so wide his face might split as they bow, and he risks a glance at Phil to see the same expression on his face. It’s beautiful. Phil is beautiful. 

The lights are still so bright and he can’t see any of the faces that the applause is coming from, until they drop the lights and suddenly they’re right there. There are so many faces, and most of them are young and they’re cheering and clapping and Dan can’t hear anymore but that’s okay. He can’t stop smiling and the lights dim for the final time, and they exit stage left. 

They are both cheering too, Dan realises as they walk through the concrete halls - bouncing off the walls as Phil whoops in exhilaration, and Dan’s laughing and his heart feels so warm. The tour is almost self-indulgent, in a way. Dan loves the attention, and he loves showing off. All that he is - all that he’s come from and worked so hard for - is on display for all of the people that love him.

A drink is being pressed into his hands and it’s icy water - thank fuck for Marianne - and someone is talking about the show and throwing praise left, right and centre but Dan is floating, eyes almost glazed. He searches for Phil but doesn’t need to - he’s right there - and their hands clasp together in the safety of the back rooms, away from prying eyes that can only suspect the truth. 

He’s grounded now, though he’s still trembling. Phil seems to be taking it all in, which he’s grateful for. Phil would remember and remind him during rehearsal tomorrow. They would go through their notes tonight over dinner and figure out what worked, what to ham up, and what to breeze over. They would tentatively check their twitters and see if there were any major flaws. Dan could barely fathom it - dinner somehow seemed years away even though they’d be eating in a little over an hour. 

His drink is gone but he doesn’t remember when he drank it, or where the glass went, and apparently he’s been speaking because someone is replying to him. Maybe he’s not as grounded as he thought he was. 

It’s a whirl, and he’s so disconnected from everything that makes him human. He is the show and he is the crowd, and he can still feel their buzz. The energy still pumps but he’s tired now, and he’s sweating so much he can feel it sticking.

He’s aware of changing - of giving his clothes to someone who will get them washed, but it’s not a big deal because they have several pairs of the same clothes. It’s an act of magic he’s truly grateful for. 

“Dan.”

He’s gotten lost standing in a room full of people, with no concept of how much time has passed. There’s still so much energy in this room - of packing up props and resetting programs - and Dan is lost. Phil finds him, squeezing his hand tightly.

“Back to the hotel,” Phil reminds him quietly, “Shower, pyjamas, dinner, and then maybe some Netflix if we can stay awake.” 

The structure helps him find ground again but he walks with leaden legs, unsure of the direction but letting Phil lead him. 

Their hands drop without a second thought as they leave the theatre - it’s such a strong habit grounded into them that even through his haze, Dan doesn’t forget. They move together though, incognito through the back door into an unmarked car with a driver. Their security tails them until they reach the car and they slip in unnoticed from the masses spewing from the theatre. 

Sometimes Dan wonders if this is all an elaborate fantasy - a fever dream - because this didn’t usually happen to people like him. He didn’t dare dream of this as a child - of needing security and getaway cars. Even that seemed too far-fetched. 

The car starts, and the lights of the city flash back at Dan through the window. He shifts slightly, going to pull his phone from his pocket, but his stomach drops when it’s not there.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and Phil glances at him before fishing Dan’s phone from his bag.

“Here. You almost left it behind,” he says, and Dan sinks back into the seat, pressing his face against Phil’s shoulder. He’s thankful for everyone - for Marianne and for Kieran and Harry and Caitlyn and most of all Phil. Amazing Phil. The thought makes him smile. 

“I promise I’ll get it together after the next show.” 

“You know it’s fine,” Phil murmurs quietly, turning his head and pressing his lips to Dan’s temple, “It’s a lot to deal with.” 

Dan nods, so grateful that he understands. That Phil knows him enough to take care of him when everything seems so unreal. 

He manages the position for a few more moments, head pressed against Phil’s shoulder. There’s a black hole in his chest and it swirls with the force of a thousand disrupted and panicked bats, skin prickling with the unease of toothpicks on sunburn. It makes him sit up to check his phone, desperate for a distraction. 

The device immediately buzzes like a vibrator on pulse mode, texts from his family, push notifications from his friends and some randoms he follows, streaming in and never seeming to end. The sight of it is overwhelming so he turns it off completely and shoves it back into his pocket. 

Luckily they are staying close, and Phil gives him a reassuring smile as they pull up to the hotel. Phil thanks their driver, giving him some brief instructions on when to retrieve them the next day, but Dan is already halfway up the stairs. 

Phil swipes the card to their room and they use the dining table as a dumping ground, their bags and phones and the lint in their pockets all finding a new home, discarded and to be sorted through later. 

“You shower, I’ll order food,” Phil commands, and Dan doesn’t argue.

He heads to the shower in a daze, stripping out of his travel clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor. He doesn’t know who will clean them up, but it won’t be him right now. 

The water pressure is incredible, which is rare for a hotel, and he puts his face into the spray in relief. There was nothing like a hot shower when his body felt like it wouldn’t hold himself up anymore, but the water is too hot, almost burning where it hits his skin. He finds he doesn’t care though, gritting his teeth against the searing heat until his skin adjusts.

He breathes heavily, raking his fingers through his hair to get rid of the tacky hairspray. He usually doesn’t need it - he went curly for a reason; he hates the smell and the taste and the texture - but his make-up artist insisted it was mandatory if he was going to be bouncing around on stage. There’d be no flyaway hair in his eyes in her backyard. 

He’d have to wash it again tomorrow, before the next show. Or maybe he wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t care. 

Their soap is still in the room from this morning’s shower and he takes a moment to lather himself up, suddenly calmer as he follows the routine of getting ready for bed. He’d moisturise after dinner, and then he’d rub his hands on Phil’s neck while they were still slimy because his boyfriend hates that. 

He smiles to himself as he rinses his body, finally turning the water off and wondering just how much time has passed. He didn’t check the time when they got to the hotel. Maybe Phil knows. 

The towels are bright white and fluffy and Dan moves it around his torso without too much intent on drying, ignoring his lower half and simply wrapping the towel around his hips. He considers the clothes on the floor but then ignores them, letting himself out of the bathroom. 

The smell of noodles and vegetables fills his nose and he hums appreciatively, realising he must’ve been in the shower for quite some time if the food was already here and stinking up the house. He bites his lip, feeling bad for a second, before stepping into the lounge room. 

Phil has the containers laid out and is eating - the greedy bitch. 

“Oy,” Dan grumbles, but he’s not really upset.

“Mate,” Phil says around a mouthful of food, hunched over the coffee table, “You can’t expect me to wait forty-five minutes to eat. I thought you’d drowned for a second…” 

Dan pauses, frowning lightly. He must’ve been thinking and dwelling more than he realised if he had been gone for a whole forty-five minutes. He doesn’t even remember half of the thoughts he was having, and it makes his gut twist uncomfortably. Disassociation isn’t new to him, but he hadn’t experienced it for quite some time. 

“Hey,” Phil says gently, noticing Dan’s frown, “It’s been a long day. Want to eat on the bed?” 

Dan’s frown only deepens, “We’ll eat on the bed we aren’t using,” he decides, saying nothing else as he disappears into the bedroom to change. 

He’s being selfish, he knows. Phil has carried them since the show ended, and he deserves a rest. But Dan can’t help but hold onto the petulant side just a touch longer. He’s hungry and exhausted. 

Phil follows him in a moment later, unbothered as he places a few containers down before going back for more. He makes two trips, laying the food out in no order at all. Meanwhile, Dan changes, not bothering with underwear as he pulls on long pants and a large shirt. 

“Just going for a shower, won’t be long,” Phil says in passing, gathering his clothes and dropping a kiss to his shoulder as he goes. 

Dan nods, devoid of emotion. He feels sapped, arms and legs heavy and if this is the aftermath of each show then he doesn’t want to do it anymore. 

Two down, eighty-four to go. 

The thought makes his stomach clench and he trembles for a moment, before biting his lip hard enough that he can feel it split. It doesn’t matter. He licks at the broken skin absently and lets the metallic copper taste fills his mouth.

He hears the shower turn off and wonders exactly when it turned on, blinking himself out of the spiral he’d begun to fall down. He couldn’t let this happen again. 

“Eat.” 

Phil’s voice is soft but firm, and Dan looks up at him helplessly. Phil’s already dressed and anxiety scrapes at Dan’s chest. He almost draws himself into a panic, feeling like he’s losing so much time, before he realises that Phil took his clothes into the bathroom and emerged fully dressed. 

“Come on,” Phil murmurs. He sits opposite to Dan, stabbing a carrot with his fork and holding it up to Dan’s lips, “Open.” 

It feels ridiculous. So stupid and corny and lame. Dan wants to reject it and sulk, but he’s not allowed. He promised himself he’d be fine. So he opens his mouth and closes it around the carrot, chewing slowly and trying not to gag. It tastes like ass and his throat is dry as he swallows. 

“Tomorrow we’ll get up early and do some yoga,” Phil says quietly, offering him a singular noodle on the fork and Dan allows himself to be fed, cheeks burning from the shame, “Then we’ll go over notes, and maybe go for a bit of a run around the block?” he suggests, “Oh, I saw some of that shit exercise equipment in the park! We can see if that’s any good? We have a whole day to relax, and then that night we can get ready for the next show. Any flaws you can see?” 

After seven years, Phil knows the formula. He knows what to say and do to ease the anxiety in Dan’s head. He breaks their life into segments, and checks in with him with words that don’t make him feel like a failure for not being able to deal with what should be simple things. 

Dan considers it for a moment, plucking the fork from Phil’s fingers and feeding himself the next heap of food, the lump going down a little easier. The bats in his chest, in their ever strong tornado, have finally eased, and he begins to breathe easier. 

“Can we have something with tomato in it for breakfast? I need something fresh.” 

A grin breaks out across Phil’s face, “There’s a bakery a little way down the road. We can go after yoga and grab a wrap or something?” 

“Before yoga,” Dan frowns gently, “I’m not sweating before I’ve eaten.”

Phil shrugs, “We’ll see,” he says, finding another fork and spearing some of the vegetables. Now that Dan’s talking, he feels more at ease. 

“We did a good job today,” Phil says quietly, and Dan reaches out to grip his wrist.

“Not yet,” he pleads softly. Phil listens, offering him a gentle smile and switching the topic immediately. 

“I’m not loving the new Fortnite map,” he said, shoving another forkful into his mouth, “I keep dying at the Dusty Depo.” 

“It’s mostly good for the crystals,” Dan answers slowly, letting his mind focus on the new topic, “If you grab six or seven and then just yeet the fuck out of there you can mostly reach any part of the map with your glider.” 

“If I wanted to get anywhere in the map, I would’ve just skybussed there,” Phil says matter-of-factly. 

Dan gives him a little eye-roll and returns to the food. The simplicity of the routine is enough to help him through the haze that tried to take over, and he’s never been happier that he hasn’t had to work through it alone. 

“Want to watch something?” Phil asks, tilting his head and already reaching for his laptop. 

Dan nods, then gestures at the food, “All done?” 

Phil confirms and Dan starts to pack up the food, almost a little proud of himself for the way he’s helping. He puts everything back into their containers and stores the leftovers in the fridge for later when they’re post-yoga and starving.

When he turns, Phil is starfished on his back across the other bed, his laptop still closed next to him. 

“Lazy,” Dan murmurs fondly, kneeling onto the bed and curling against his side, in the small space between his outstretched arm and leg. 

Phil shifts to drape his upper body over Dan, forearms closing around his chest and pulling him close so they’re pressed up against each other. It feels good being the little spoon. Sometimes he hates it - wants nothing to do with the long lanky body behind him - but today he craves the closeness.. 

He exhales heavily and closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing for a moment. In the earlier silence, his mind had time to race again, thinking of all the shows they still had to do, of the peace they wouldn’t get. But this time he’s calm enough to remember the words from his therapist. 

Mindfulness. Breathing in and out. Accepting the negative thoughts and watching them as they passed. It was okay that they existed, but they had no place here. 

He recognises Phil’s body moving behind him, breathing in time, and Dan wonders if Phil knows he has adopted the same rhythm. 

He realises then that his thoughts have strayed, and he guides himself back to thinking about his breathing. 

In and out. His chest, rising and falling. His head feels light and he’s finally at peace, relaxed enough to sleep. He feels the time passing but it’s not like it was before, when he was numb to the passage. When it felt like he blinked and it was hours later. 

“It was a good show,” he says quietly, and feels Phil stir in response.

“I think they liked it,” Phil agrees, sounding sleepy. His breath is warm against Dan’s neck and it makes him shiver, pinpricks dotting down his spine. 

“I was scared,” Dan admits quietly, “Scared that we were letting everyone down. That we were too off brand…” he’s ready to delve into a full breakdown of the show, and of all of his feelings, but he feels Phil’s lips at the base of his neck and he can’t remember why he was so anxious, “I just... want everyone to enjoy themselves.” 

Phil’s not kissing him - it just happens to be a convenient place for his lips to be. He waits a few beats and when he speaks, his lips brush Dan’s skin, “Did you see their faces?” he asks, “Did you hear how they cheered for you?” 

Dan pushes his face into the pillow because it’s hard to accept that there are such tangible signs of the love their fanbase gives them, but he still manages to convince himself otherwise. He feels so stupid - a stereotype - because he should be happy. He should be confident in the fact that he has a fanbase, a loving boyfriend, and a fantastic life. 

Sometimes the validation is tricky for Phil. He doesn’t want to pander to his insecurities, but sometimes he knows that he needs to. 

“They all saw you up on that stage and they wondered how they got so lucky, to be sitting and breathing the same air as you…” 

It’s over the top, Phil also knows. But he’s heard people actually say it - seen the tweets. He’s not exaggerating, in some cases. 

“They came to see you because you make them smile every morning. Because they wake up to check their phones to see if you’ve posted. They write about your life, they speculate about your likes and your dislikes because they love you, Dan,” he whispers, and the whispers are accompanied by kisses, soft and delicate against the sensitive skin of his neck. 

Whether it’s the constant praise, or the light kisses and Phil’s warm, gravelly voice, Dan doesn’t know, but it’s certainly distracted him. His eyes are closed, spine arched so he’s pressed closer to Phil. His eyes flicker open slightly as he rolls onto his back, effectively placing himself underneath Phil, staring up at his beautiful face. 

He looks familiar from this angle, slight double-chin engaged as Phil stares back, lifted on one elbow to accommodate for Dan’s skillful burrowing. He moves a stray hair back from Dan’s forehead, leaning down to drop a kiss to his brow. 

Phil’s eyes are serious as he kisses down Dan’s face, scraping his teeth against the apple of his cheek, pressing his lips to the corner of Dan’s mouth, then to the underside of his jaw. Dan tries not to react, following the movements as best he can with his eyes, and maybe tilting his head up slightly to give him access. 

Phil grins when Dan gasps quietly as he nips his pulsepoint, dropping his head to suck harshly at his collarbone. The mark won’t show - they’ve been doing this long enough to know how far they can go - but he relishes the way Dan’s eyes turn stormy as he blows cool air over the tender skin. 

Dan seems to snap out of whatever trance he was under, reaching up to grip Phil’s pyjama top and pull him down gently to his lips. It’s lazy but Phil doesn’t mind, letting their lips crush together so they can kiss the shit out of each other.

Phil’s hand settles on Dan’s waist and his hand snakes up the oversized piece of clothing he’s wearing, stroking the soft skin of his stomach. He’s smooth but firm, even if he hasn’t got a six pack of abs hiding under there. Phil prefers it, if he has to be honest, and his fingers make idle patterns until Dan pulls away to breathe. 

His chest heaves and Phil’s suddenly on the move, creeping down his body until he reaches where his hands have been so dutiful, pushing the shirt up more so the skin of his stomach is exposed. There are three freckles here - one on his hip, one just above his navel, and one on the edge of his lower ribs. Phil can’t help but kiss every single one of them - a secret ritual he could never forgo. 

Dan’s skin is warm beneath his mouth and he trails from the highest freckle down to his jutting hip bones, severe and bony against the softness of his stomach. Dan’s still breathing heavily but it’s no longer from the kissing - he’s practically vibrating under Phil’s attention. 

Dan’s arms raise until he’s gripping the bars of the headboard in his own private prison, restricting himself from reaching out and touching. He wants to feel tonight, to let Phil have complete control over him. 

Phil’s cock twitches in response to the sight of him, pliant and willing and asking for it. 

His heart clenches with love for the other man and leans down to kiss his hip again, sucking a bruise into his skin because he can do that here. Dan’s quiet, and his bottom lip is drawn under his teeth. He’s always quiet in moments like this, his moans soft and desperate. It reminds Phil of jerking off in his bedroom, trying hard not to let his parents or brother hear, and he wonders if it stems from the same place with Dan.

Phil returns his attention to the waistband of Dan’s pants, already pulling away from his skin as his cock creates a tent. He grins lightly, easily biting the elastic and tugging them down his legs. It’s cliche and a little silly, but it makes Dan smile until he groans as the fabric grates over his cock. He soon springs free and Phil abandons the use of his teeth, pressing kisses to the creamy skin of his thigh. 

Dan stares down at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He already looks wrecked but Phil can see it’s not from how tired he is. He wants this badly, even if he won’t say it. 

Tonight Phil gives it to him without teasing, and kisses down the short path to the base of his cock, mouthing at the junction. He’s as hairless here as he is everywhere, and Phil nuzzles up the length of him before wrapping a hand around, working it up and down. It’s dry and even Phil can feel where he pulls, but Dan doesn’t complain. 

Phil sneaks a glance up to Dan, who has his eyes closed now, head tilted back on the pillows. His biceps are strained as he grips the headboard tightly. It’s a good look for him. 

Phil presses a soft kiss to the tip of his cock and Dan lets out a soft gasp. He’s leaking slightly, and Phil laps it up, his tongue curving around the head until he sinks down around him. Dan’s hips buck into the warm, wet heat but Phil’s prepared and his throat is already open and ready. He tries to test himself, often letting Dan dictate the depth and speed, making a game of it when Dan catches him off-guard. He likes to think it also gives Dan a little more control, even when he wants to feel powerless.

“Phil,” Dan murmurs softly, and he almost sounds asleep. 

Phil pulls off, but leans his head against the length of him, curious, “You alright?” 

“Don’t drag it out,” he murmurs, eyes finally opening, offering him a clipped smile, “You know I fucking love it when you drag it out, but I just wanna come. Please.” 

Phil lets out a soft laugh and Dan frowns, jiggling his knee so Phil’s dislodged for a moment.

“Don’t laugh at me when my dick is in your hand, you twat.”

Phil doesn’t answer, his grip tightening around his base and he takes Dan all the way into his mouth. It’s the wrong angle for Phil to get to the base but he does his best.

“Shit,” Dan murmurs, and Phil tries not to grin, sliding back up and he uses his hand to do most of the work instead, knowing it’ll have a speedier impact. Dan just wants to get off, and so he doesn’t try anything fancy, doesn’t try to impress him with his mouthwork. He just sucks at the head, tongue flicking over the tip every so often as he works him over faster and faster. 

Dan’s back is arched now, both lips trapped by his teeth as he moans, desperate little broken-off sounds that make Phil’s cock twitch with just how wrecked he sounds. One hand has left the headboard now, fisted into the sheets as his body reaches a glorious climax. 

Phil swallows, because they didn’t do this on the spare bed that they ate on and he likes clean sheets, and also because he kind of enjoys the feeling of the tangy, salty fluid. 

He watches Dan come down from where he seems to have lifted off the bed, his chest heaving from the exertion. He’s smiling though, and Phil’s heart warms because even after seven years, sex still makes him happy. Phil does this to him, and there’s a spark of pride in his chest too. 

Dan takes a moment for himself, to enjoy this. His mind is blank in a good way, taken over by the blinding white euphoria of his orgasm. He manages a glance down towards Phil, who is just waiting patiently for him to recover. 

“C’mere,” Dan murmurs after a beat or two of him breathing. Phil carefully tucks him back into his pants, giving his soft cock a parting kiss before he’s done. 

Dan’s face is a mixture of amusement and judgement, but Phil doesn’t care. He crawls back up his body and although his dick is aching in his pants, he doesn’t expect Dan to reciprocate. He curls up against the other man, wrapping one arm around his broad chest. One of Dan’s hands finds its way between their bodies, rubbing over the shape of Phil’s cock. 

“You don’t have to,” Phil promises, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw, “I know you’re tired...” 

“Shut up,” Dan replies easily, squeezing him over the fabric and Phil lets out a shaky breath, “Feels good, right?” 

Phil hums, head against Dan’s chest. Dan likes to be vocal when he’s the one taking the lead, and he loves the flush down Phil’s chest as his mouth gets filthy. 

Dan works his hand into Phil’s pants, long fingers wrapping around Phil’s cock with ease, “You love this, don’t you?” he murmurs, and he still sounds lazy but he’s also fueled by his arousal - by how much Dan himself loves this, “Love letting me take care of you…” 

Phil lets out a soft whine as Dan’s hand starts to move faster, thumb swiping over the head every few upstrokes, and his mouth never stops moving. 

“God, you’re hot,” Dan murmurs, “If I wasn’t exhausted I’d suck you off. Love your dick in my mouth, hot and thick, fuck.” 

Phil’s squirming and his breath is ragged as his orgasm builds. He can feel the heat in his stomach, coiling low in his abdomen. 

“Love seeing you fall apart under my hand,” Dan murmurs, “And you’re so fucking beautiful.” 

Sometimes Phil has to drown him out. Dan loves the sound of his own voice, and while most of the time it works for Phil and gets him there sooner, sometimes it’s distracting. 

He occupies Dan’s mouth with his own, earning himself a tight squeeze to his cock as Dan kisses him back with renewed fervor. Now that he can concentrate on just the feeling of Dan’s warm hand, the warmth in his gut seems to build faster and faster until he lets out a broken groan, spilling over Dan’s fist. 

He can feel Dan’s smug grin against his mouth, like its some victory that he made him come after all these years. Phil bites Dan’s lip in retaliation, before letting himself breathe, coming down. 

“I’m not getting up,” Dan tells him, stretching out lazily and sinking down against the pillows.

“Mm, so thoughtful,” Phil mumbles, but he hauls himself to his feet, disappearing into the bathroom. 

He reappears a few minutes later in new pants, finding Dan already half-gone. His eyes are heavy again but instead of the stress he saw before, Dan is nothing but relaxed. 

Phil crosses to the table to pick up their water bottles, throwing Dan’s at his chest. He wakes with a soft ‘oof’ and glares back at him, but doesn’t say anything as he takes a long drink. 

Phil crawls back into bed and immediately Dan is a limpet, wrapping arms and legs around Phil until they’re pressed together. He feels light, and some of it has to do with the orgasm, but another part is just this. Them, together, after a show they produced hand in hand. The crowd, and the applause. The excitement of future shows - of improvements. 

They have a long way to go - eighty-four shows, to be exact. But that number isn’t so scary now.

Tomorrow they’ll do all of the things they said they would - maybe exercise, and go over the show notes.

But tonight, Dan will enjoy the natural high.


End file.
